


a lost bird who never learned to fly

by lilabut



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Newborn Children, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 17:51:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You, my little chap, are going to make one hell of a pirate one day."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part one

[a lost bird who never learned to fly ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_6ipAgWhK8)

Killian’s lips pressed softly against her forehead, the touch so feather light, her eyelids fluttered closed for the breath of a moment. All her senses seemed to have intensified, and the warmth of their son cradled in her arms dominated them all, spreading through her veins like a golden glow, filling her with more love than she ever thought to be capable of harboring.

It did not matter that she was more tired than ever before, every muscle and bone hidden beneath her skin aching from the exhaustion of the now passing night, the sun rising outside. Golden, full of warmth and promise, the horizon above the sea tinted in a rose so innocent, so pure.

She sighed softly as Killian’s hand come to rest upon her own, tenderly supporting the small weight of their son’s head. Looking down at the miracle in her arms, Emma felt tears gathering in her eyes.

_You, my little chap, are going to make one hell of a pirate one day_. Killian’s words were spoken as a mere whisper, the room filled with a light silence, nothing disturbing the sleeping baby in his parents’ protective arms.

Emma laughed, her fingers gently trailing along her son’s clenched fist, so small, so delicate. _What if he wants to be a cook? Or an organ player? Or, I don’t know, a funeral director?_ Only faintly did she remember the night she had given birth to Henry. All she remembered was the pain. The physical agony, the tearing of her heart as she caught a brief glimpse of him before he was taken away. That night, dark and cold and utterly hopeless, she had been all alone, not able to shed a single tear for the son she had lost.

Killian grinned, a different sort of grin than she was used to. It seemed peaceful, as if all burdens had been lifted off his shoulder. _I suppose I could live with that. But trust me, I know a pirate when I see one._

_He looks just like you, maybe that’s why_. Their eyes met, holding a gaze that spoke more words than either of them were capable of saying. Softly, Killian brushed his lips against hers, leaning forward carefully, his hand never straying from hers as they cradled their sleeping son.

A knock on the door caused them to part. It was Mary Margaret who first glimpsed into the room, entering with quiet steps as Emma smiled brightly. David followed, closing the door behind him carefully. For a moment, Emma eyed the two of them, glowing with pride, smiling so genuinely that the tears that had gathered now threatened to fall. For the first time, she truly wanted to look at them as her parents. As her son’s grandparents.

She smiled, and when they moved closer to the bed, she saw the tears slowly leaving a shiny trail on her mother’s cheeks. _He’s so beautiful, Emma._

Mary Margaret’s hand reached out to rest against Emma’s cheek, her eyes never straying from her grandson. David leaned over, a little more hesitantly, and Emma remembered that the memory of her own birth must have been not that much different than the one she carried of Henry’s. This was the beginning of something new for all of them. A new chapter. A happier one.

_Have you decided on a name yet?_ Emma’s eyes met Killian’s, his soft nod, his hand brushing tenderly against her shoulder the confirmation she needed.

Looking up at her father, her voice threatened to falter, while her lips spread into a peaceful smile. _David. David Jones._


	2. part two

_Davy slee, ma._ The words bubbled out of her son’s mouth, no sound ever more beautiful than his innocent, sweet voice. Emma held him a little higher, nudging her nose against his softly.

_Yes, you’re going to sleep now, darling._ Sitting down in the cushioned rocking chair by the window, he curtains drawn, yet a glimpse of the star speckled night sky visible, she marveled at how much he had grown, how the last year had given them all so much joy. Her son’s hair, once as night black as his father’s, had lightened, soft as silk strands of ashen blond framing his always flushed face.

_Will he ever get his name right?_ Henry’s words carried over from the open door, and he stepped closer as Emma smiled. _Night, pirate._ A soft stroke across his little brother’s head, small blue eyes, always full of mischief and charm suddenly wide awake and curious.

...

Her fingers tenderly trailed the swell of her son’s cheek, warm and soft and round and never had anything been more perfect. It pained her a little - always, every single night since he had been born - to lean away from him, whisper a soft goodnight, and turn towards the door of the small nursery. Painted in blue, white curtains like clouds, the gentle light of the lamp like a candle’s glow.

A tall figure leaning against the door frame, a wide smile greeting her. _When did you come home?_

_A while ago._ Merely a whisper, the sound of their son breathing evenly in his sleep like a symphony.

_And you’re just standing there?_

_I could watch you two all night._

Killian took slow, long strides until he stood next to her, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek, the kiss he placed on her lips as soft, yet filled with the longing of a day spent apart.

Fingers curling around the edge of the white crib, she watched as Killian leaned forward, brushing his lips feather lightly against their son’s forehead. _Sleep tight, little pirate._

_You and Henry both seem very determined_ , Emma whispered, cherishing the warmth of Killian’s body as he pulled her into a tight embrace.

_I know the sea, darling. And you can see the sea when you look into his eyes._

She knew nothing better than her son’s eyes, crystal clear, so deeply blue and stormy, never bothered by a single cloud.

Tucking her head beneath Killian’s chin, her fingers intertwining with his, she allowed the exhaustion to wash over her. _I’m still not convinced_.

_Wait and see, sweetheart. One day soon, there’ll be talk of little Captain Davy Jones._

_If you keep calling him that, he’ll never understand that his name is David_. A chuckle, a kiss on the crown of her head, promises and whispers as the night began to fall, the last notes of a music box fading into silence.

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not have written the birth of Davy Jones. But I'm still convinced there has to be _some_ connection there, or they wouldn't have gone with that last name.


End file.
